The forest grew heavier with each step.
Mordrek now rode at the very front of the formation. He wasn't taking chances—not this deep into unknown territory. If something were to ambush them, it would meet the fastest blade among them first.
Trafalgar's eyes scanned the treetops, then the scorched earth below. The smell of burnt bark and rotting fur still lingered in the air.
"Could it be a wyvern?" he muttered. "The burns, the shredded beasts… Something that spits fire, maybe."
Mordrek responded without looking back. "Possibly. But it'd be odd. Wyverns prefer the snowy peaks. If one came this far down into forested lowlands… something forced it here."
The two-meter-tall captain, riding just behind him, tightened his grip on the reins. "My lord Mordrek… I can feel something ahead. A presence."
"I feel it too," Mordrek said sharply. He raised his hand. "Everyone halt."
